


Handprints

by dean_n_pie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cookies, Fluff, M/M, flour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dean_n_pie/pseuds/dean_n_pie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam just wanted to make some cookies. Gabriel had other ideas (**featuring teeth-rotting fluff and gratuitous ass slaps**)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Handprints

**Author's Note:**

> this is literally my "i'm done with the dcbb i'm gonna write a sabriel" plus emma wanted it so

Sam eyes the cup of flour critically, running the knife over the top until it is even. He sets the knife down, pouring the cup into the bowl on the counter. Gabriel’s sitting behind him on the island, leaning against Sam and resting his head on his shoulder.

Their apartment wasn’t all that big, and even though Gabriel had phenomenal cosmic powers and all that jazz, he flat-out refused to make their kitchen enough to fit more than one person at the counter at one time. Sam suspected that he only did it so he could sit up on the island - it was one of the only times he was ever taller than Sam. 

He measures out another cup methodically, dumping it into the bowl. Gabriel shifts behind him, wrapping his arms around Sam’s waist.

"Hey, Sammich… you know I could just make you cookies. It’d be quicker, too." To prove his point, Gabriel snaps, and a plate of cookies appear on the counter where Sam’s baking supplies had been. Sam sighs and turns his head just enough so he can glare at Gabriel. "What? That leaves us time for, uh, other things." He waggles his eyebrows, running a teasing hand up under Sam’s shirt.

Sam reaches back and grabs Gabriel’s hand, pulling it out from his shirt. He fixes Gabriel with an unimpressed glance, mouth twisting into a frown.  
"Turn them back," he says, knowing that Gabriel will sigh over-dramatically but still do as he says. Gabriel does, and Sam coughs when the flour puffs up from the bag. The white powder settles on the counter, and Sam rolls his eyes. "You’re cleaning it up."

Gabriel just smirks, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to press a hand into the flour. It leaves a perfect handprint, and Sam doesn’t doubt that he used some of his mojo to make it stick to his hand. That’s the last thing he thinks before Gabriel presses the floured hand to his chest, leaving behind his handprint.

"Look, you can be Dean and I can be Cas," Gabriel says, laughing. "The handprint to rule all."

Sam grimaces, shoving Gabriel aside. “Really, Gabe? Last thing I wanna know is about my brother’s relationship status with Castiel.” He retaliates by cupping flour in his hand and blowing it over and into Gabriel’s hair.

Gabriel lets out an undignified shriek, hands flying up to his hair and trying desperately to get the powder out. His normally golden-brown hair seems almost gray with the powder in, and Sam can’t help laughing.

"Payback’s a bitch." He grins, leaning over to press a kiss to Gabriel’s floury forehead. His lips leave a faint imprint.

"It is on, Winchester," Gabriel says, eyes glinting with mischief, before he snaps and pops away from Sam.

"Hey, no fair!" Sam yells, spinning around in their small kitchen. "No going invis-" He’s cut off by a handful of powder being thrown on his head and falling into his open mouth. He sputters, coughing out powder, and glares around the room.

"Dammit, Gabriel," he grumbles, tongue trying to push all the flour out. "I said no powers!" He coughs again, and cups his hands under the faucet. The water fills to the top and Sam drinks it gratefully, swishing it around in his mouth before spitting it into the sink. A pair of hands slap his ass and he jumps, spinning around.

He tilts his head over his shoulder, spotting two identical handprints on both sides of his ass. Gabriel chuckles from somewhere off to his right, and Sam reaches out with flour covered hands. One of his hands hits what he thinks is a shoulder, and (ignoring Gabriel’s sly “Sam, didn’t know that that was where you wanted this to go,”) the other hits Gabriel’s chest.

The flour somehow, miraculously, stays visible when Sam pulls back, and now it’s no trouble to guess where Gabriel is. He reaches back into the bowl and grabs a handful, throwing it over at where he thinks Gabriel is standing.

From the splutters and creative swears, he assumes he hit his target. Sure enough, Gabriel pops back onto the visible plane, flour coating almost every visible surface. He looks like a ghost, and Sam bursts out into laughter.

"You look hilarious," he gasps out, pointing over at Gabriel. Gabriel just pouts, but Sam misses the gleam in his eyes. He doubles over in laughter, hands clenching around his abdomen. There’s a soft rustle of bowls next to him, but Sam is too busy laughing to pay attention. The next thing he feels is about 3 cups of flour being dumped on his head and down his shirt. He shakes his head, sending flour everywhere, and squirms when he tries to stand up. The flour is settling into some very uncomfortable places, and Sam tries getting it out. Gabriel is leaning against the counter with a triumphant look on his face.

Sam gives up trying to get the flour out and looks sadly over at the counter. “So much for the cookies,” he says, frowning down at the amount of flour just sitting there. Gabriel comes up from behind him to lean against his side, surveying the scene.

"Eh," he says, snapping his fingers. The mess disappears, and the ingredients all fly back to their respective locations. Sam realizes he’s still covered from head to toe in flour, and looks over at Gabriel in confusion.

"How come you didn’t clean us?" he asks; Gabriel just smirks, turning to face Sam and grabbing his neck.

"I’ve got a few, let’s say, other ideas." Gabriel presses a kiss into Sam’s neck, breathing out the words into his skin. "It involves me, you, and a lovely little shower that always stays the best temperature."

He pulls at Sam’s arm, tugging him away from the kitchen and into the bathroom. Flour marks are left in the hallway, on the counter, in the shower, somehow, and they even make their way into their bed.

After the shower, Sam can’t even find it in him to be that upset over the cookies.


End file.
